Stegocerotica
by Lord Kristine
Summary: A character study of Claire the stegoceratops.


Some days were harder than others. Of course, there was always the chance that Claire would forget her unfortunate circumstances for a short amount of time, but for the most part, she was incessantly reminded that she would have to live the rest of her life as a stegoceratops. Of course, she tried to make the best of it, being the ever-resourceful woman that she had always been, but there was always a gentle thrum of regret in the back of her mind. It was true that she'd made the choice to stay this way, but that had been in an extreme situation, and the alternative would be nothing short of shameful. She tried to justify her situation, telling herself that she really had no choice in the matter. It was somewhat true, but she could feel the burning question of "what if" consuming her mind at the most inconvenient of times.

It often happened when she looked in the mirror. She avoided doing so, of course, but every now and then, she would gravitate towards the reflective glass like a moth to the flame. Staring at her unfamiliar shape for a good long time, she'd ponder everything that could have been. Career, innovation, success . . . all impossibilities now. She had nothing left to pursue. After many years of hard, unyielding work, here she was, lumbering to and fro aimlessly, grazing the lawn like a sentient heifer.

The only comfort in this veritable hell was Owen. Kind, sweet Owen who had been blessed with an infinite amount of patience. Claire hated herself for dragging him into her shame-spiral, yet he never showed any bitterness towards her. Even a few days ago, when she had accidentally munched on his hair while she was sleeping (thinking it was the grassy field in her dream), he simply shrugged and washed the saliva out of his coif without a single complaint.

Claire was conflicted on the matter of Owen's tolerance. On one hand, the purely sentimental part of her wanted to believe that he had somehow gotten past the fact that she was a chubby, green hybrid dinosaur. The sensible part of her (and coincidentally, the voice that spoke the loudest) was more inclined to believe that he was secretly hiding his resentment. That, or he was in a state of unfathomably deep denial.

She hated the fact that she loved him. It was selfish, she knew, to allow herself to be tethered to him like the animal she was, but at the same time, she knew that she couldn't live without him. Not just because he was her only link to the outside world, but also because she loved him. She really, _really_ loved him. Somehow, he had a way of making her forget what she was . . . for a little while, at least. She needed these moments more than anything else. Without the temporary relief, she was almost certain that she'd be driven to a state of even deeper melancholy, if that was possible.

And so, she kept her mouth shut about the whole ordeal. She was sure that Owen had sensed that she wasn't quite feeling well, but he probably couldn't estimate the precise extent of her torment. He was somewhat naïve, and Claire couldn't help but worry that one day, all of her excuses would come crashing down, and she would have to be completely and brutally honest with him.

The day came sooner than she thought.

Perhaps that was a somewhat misleading statement, for her downfall came not in the daytime, but late at night. She had just woken up from another grazing-dream, and she suddenly felt the weight of her psyche bearing down on her like a cascade of misery. Had she really become such an animal that she no longer dreamed of human pursuits? She would have taken any stress-induced nightmare over this pleasant, pastoral dream. The terrors of rotten teeth and rabid wolves seemed merciful compared to the idea that she could eat grass and enjoy it.

It was then that Owen woke up. Claire was not sure when it happened or how long he had been watching her, but she suddenly became aware of his hand resting on her shoulder. On any other day, she would have wiped away her tears and pretended that nothing was wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to slip back into denial, presently. He had already seen too much, and to ignore this would be childish, at best.

Owen ran his hand down her front leg slowly.

"It's going to be okay."

Claire had almost expected him to ask her what was wrong, but of course, he was more direct than she was. He knew _exactly_ what was wrong, and he wasn't about to dance around the issue.

"Do you need something?" he asked.

Claire took a deep breath to conceal the quaver in her voice.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? We have some celery downstairs-"

He realized that he had said something wrong when Claire pulled away suddenly.

"I'm not hungry."

There was a hint of fear in her voice, and she deduced that Owen didn't know why. He looked rather confused, but he soon shook his head and softened his expression.

"Do you need some medicine to get to sleep?"

Claire climbed out of bed, trying her best not to wince as the mattress shifted dramatically.

"I'll find something. Go back to sleep."

Owen stared at her for a moment, then lay down. Claire made her way towards the door, but stopped when she realized that there was a mirror in the hall. If she were to walk past it, she'd most likely be pushed over the edge. Pausing for a moment, Claire turned and climbed back into bed.

"I think I'll be fine."

She rolled onto her side and nestled herself into the mattress. Owen scooted up closer to her and placed his head under her chin. When she didn't respond, he lifted her right arm and draped it over his shoulder. After a moment, he realized that she was quite limp.

"Claire . . . Do you want to talk?"

She felt her heart tremble.

"I don't see what there is to talk about. I'm big and green and ugly and my life is ruined."

The words flew off of her tongue before she could stop them. She held Owen's gaze for a few seconds before closing her eyes tight.

"I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"What can I do to help?"

Claire shook her head.

"Nothing. You can't. I'm doomed to live this way until I die."

Owen ran his hand down the side of her face sadly.

"It's not _all_ bad . . ."

Claire frowned.

"I don't see how you can say that. Look at me."

"You look fine."

"I'M A DINOSAUR, OWEN!"

He shrunk away as she fumed. Slowly, she took a deep breath and composed herself.

"I've lost everything. My career, my status, my work . . ."

"What about me?"

"You can go back whenever you want."

"No, I mean, you still have me."

Claire scoffed bitterly.

"For how long?"

"Forever. I love you."

Claire searched his face for a trace of insincerity, but found none. He looked into her eyes with the same acceptance that she had come to expect from him. Claire felt her guilt swelling until it seemed ready to consume her.

"Owen . . . You still have a chance. Go make something of yourself. You don't have to stay here with me."

Owen frowned.

"I _want_ to stay here with you. I have nowhere better to be. I'm happy."

Claire looked away.

"I don't see how you _can_ be."

"I love you."

"You shouldn't. I'm hideous."

"You're beautiful."

"That's a lie."

Owen put his hand on her cheek.

"Claire . . . I think you're beautiful."

She looked into his eyes with pain.

"Owen, you don't have to lie to me."

He frowned and placed his fist under his chin pensively. After a second, he gave a curt nod.

"Alright. Roll onto your back."

Claire blinked.

"What?"

"Just do it."

She rolled over, letting her plates fold outwards. When she was flat on her back, Owen climbed up on her chest and leaned towards her face.

"Kiss me. Use tongue."

Claire didn't have time to question his oddly brief instructions, for he swiftly pressed his lips against her beak. She did as she was told, letting her tongue slip into his mouth, feeling his much smaller organ responding upon contact. They sat this way for a few seconds, eyes closed, adjusting their angle every so often. Claire felt Owen's hand wandering down her neck. He pulled away without warning, leaving her hanging for a few seconds before she licked her beak and snapped out of her daze. Owen smiled and gave her a quick nod before sliding down her belly.

"Alright. I'm ready."

Claire leaned her head back and sighed.

"I have no idea what you're on about. You don't have to be so mysterious. What are you planning, Owen?"

She heard a light rustling. Ignoring it, she went on.

"Can you explain to me what you're up to? I don't understand what your goal is."

She didn't have to wait for an answer, for at that very moment, he leaned forward and-

Claire craned her neck in alarm.

"Owen! What are you doing?!"

Owen's eyes flitted down to where their bodies now met.

"Uh . . . What does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

Claire stared at him, her mouth agape.

"Owen, you can't _do_ that!"

He blinked.

"Why not?"

"I'm a stegoceratops!"

Owen frowned in puzzlement, then gave an understanding nod.

"Right, right . . . So, should I come at you from the back, then, or-"

Claire slapped her forehead.

"Owen. We can't do this. Period."

He frowned.

"Why not?"

Claire closed her eyes.

"You know why."

Owen reached forward and held her cheek.

"Claire . . . It's still you."

She looked away.

"Is it? I'm not so sure . . ."

They remained silent for a very long time. Slowly, Owen ran his hand down her side.

"I love you, Claire."

She blinked away her tears.

"I love you too, but this won't work."

Owen's eyes went wide.

"Claire . . ."

"I'm ending this," she said, pulling away from him, "It was nice while it lasted, but I think we have to face the truth."

Owen crawled across the bed as she climbed down. He ran in front of her before she could leave the room.

"Claire, don't do this. I love you. I love you so much . . ."

She pushed him away with the side of her horn.

"It's time to move on."

She opened the door using her beak and lumbered down the hall. Owen tried to pull her back by the tail, but she was too strong.

"Claire! . . . Claire, stop! We need to _talk_ about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. It's over."

She continued to plod along until she reached the mirror. She froze as it entered her line of sight. It put her into a sort of trance, and she found that she could not move an inch. Even in this petrified state, tears flowed freely down her face. Owen, giving up on trying to hold her back, instead crouched down by her head. He stared into the mirror as she did, taking in the unusual sight.

Claire was no longer immobile. She had begun to tremble.

"What can I do to make you realize that you're beautiful?" Owen asked quietly, still staring at the mirror.

Claire gulped and closed her eyes.

"You can leave me, and never come back. I want to forget what I was. I want to be nothing."

Owen sat down in front of her.

"Claire, you will _never_ be nothing."

Giving up, Claire lowered herself to the ground, rolling over in defeat. She rested her head in Owen's lap, avoiding the area that, given its current appearance, would prove to be rather sensitive.

They sat quietly for a while, and Owen stroked her muzzle. Claire didn't care that he was treating her like a horse. It would be better, she thought, if she could become a stupid animal who didn't have enough of a mind to feel regret. She closed her eyes and let herself fall into a relaxed state. Her mind clouded over, and she felt at peace. Owen leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She tensed up slightly, not appreciating this disturbance in her state of hopeless acceptance. She continued to breathe slowly as Owen ran his hand down her frill. He pressed his forehead against her brow and spoke quietly.

"I know you think it's over, but it's really not. I love you. I love you as fiercely as I did when you were human, maybe even more. You may not think you're still you, but I know that you are. You haven't changed. Not in the slightest. When I look at you, I don't see a stegoceratops. I see Claire. You're intelligent, you're funny, and you are, without a doubt, beautiful. I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me. I wish I could make you understand."

Slowly, Claire reached her front foot forward and placed it on his knee. Owen wrapped his arms around her neck and began to cry.

"Can you try? Can you try to understand?"

Claire rumbled sadly. Owen squeezed her.

"Claire?"

She turned her head a little.

"Say something."

She took a deep breath.

"I love you."

Owen grew more relaxed, relieved that she had responded. Claire stood up and steadied her knees.

"I don't think I'll ever understand how you can still love me, but I believe you. I think that's enough."

Owen smiled.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to hear you say that."

They shared a hug. It lasted for exactly the right amount of time. When they pulled apart, Claire looked down and raised her eyebrow.

"How the hell are you maintaining that?"

Owen smiled coyly.

"Well, I guess I must be attracted to you."

Claire nodded.

"Yeah . . . That's kind of weird. Are you really turned on by a stegoceratops?"

Owen grinned.

"Not at all. But a stego-claire-atops? . . . That's a different story."

Claire smiled and shepherded him back to the room with her tail. She closed the door behind them, and hopped up on the bed.

"So."

"So."

Claire smiled.

"I think it should be fine. If you're still interested, that is . . ."

He was.

What followed was a half-hour of experimentation. When they got the basic mechanics figured out, the rest of the motions fell into place. It wasn't completely ordinary (Claire did, in fact, moo a couple of times by accident, and Owen's lips could only reach up to her belly), but for the most part, it was blissful, if a little strange.

When it was over, Owen nestled himself in Claire's arms, and this time, she made an effort to pull him closer. They basked in the afterglow of the act, sighing happily and feeling their hearts (one beating slightly slower than the other) pressing up against each other. Claire smiled and nibbled at Owen's hair playfully, and he nipped her elbow. He shifted so that they were facing each other and ran his hand down her cheek.

"So . . . How was it?"

Claire kissed him.

"Beautiful."


End file.
